


Open wounds are a great way to make friends, right?

by ganymedejam



Series: Touch-starved Idiots [1]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Gen, mention of blood and stitches, slight AU from Chapter 12, soft!Din if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ganymedejam/pseuds/ganymedejam
Summary: During Chapter 12/pre-Chapter 13 slight AU. Warning for mentions of blood and stitches.Something told you that the alien mechanic was acting off the day your crew repaired the Razor Crest. You sneak onto the ship just before the Mandalorian comes back to battle the TIE Fighters, and the ensuing aerial acrobatics caused you to split your brow on something in the cargo bay.The Mandalorian cleans you up and you both find the closeness of the act to be a bit emotionally jarring.Ongoing collection of Din/Reader one-shots. Rating to change in future parts.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Reader, Din Djarin/Reader
Series: Touch-starved Idiots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037154
Comments: 5
Kudos: 148





	Open wounds are a great way to make friends, right?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm making a series about two touch-starved idiots who fall in love I guess :')

“Oh. You’re one of Karga’s mechanics.” The Mandalorian stated, swiftly holstering his blaster. He paused a beat. “You’ve got blood all over your face.”

That was the first thing he’s ever said to you. So much for introductions.

“Huh, uh, I wondered what that goop was. Thought a can of lubricant burst on my face while I was tumbling around in here.” you replied, too really dumbfounded to say anything more important--what with the Mandalorian looming over you after he had pointed a blaster in your face just moments before. All you could do was just sit there on the floor, staring off into nothing as you tried to wrack your brain as to how you started bleeding in the first place. 

You had a leery feeling towards the green alien mechanic while the crew was doing repairs. You noticed that they let themselves into the sealed cargo bay at the back of the ship, which was something that wasn’t on the docket for repairs. After the work had finished, you decided to slip back onto the ship once the rest of the crew was gone with the intention of scouring the cargo bay for anything out of place. However, before you could begin your search, the Mandalorian had returned and immediately took off.

Of course, the Mandalorian couldn’t hear you yelling from the cargo bay while he was seated in the cockpit engaged in battle with the TIE Fighters that had chased after Greef Karga, Cara Dune, and Mythrol. Not having any place to secure yourself, you tumbled around the cargo bay like a ragdoll and split your brow on a corner of a metal crate when the Crest reached the peak of its ascent, then looped around for a sudden nosedive after making quick work of the last remaining TIE Fighter. 

“Might wanna think about putting some kind of safety belt or something in here, Mando.” you said, chuckling nervously as you looked back up at him. An odd noise sounded from his voice modulator in his helmet. _Was that some kind of laugh_? You ignored it, tucking your sleeve over your thumb to wipe away the blood streaming down your face.

“Stop.” he commanded, “You’ll get an infection rubbing your face with that grimy jumpsuit.” The Mandalorian lets out a low huff, pauses to think on what he wants to do, then swiftly leaves the cargo bay. “Just.. stay there,” he called over his shoulder.

A couple minutes later, he returns with a wet cloth and a small bowl of warm water from the fresher and a first aid kit. You didn’t even notice that he didn’t have his gloves on until he had sat down crossed-legged in front of you and presented the cloth to you as a silent request for permission to help. You nodded slowly, suddenly feeling self-conscious with a heat creeping up your cheeks. You surely look ridiculous now--grease stained with blood caked over half your face. Still, you tell him, “You don--” you shiver just a fraction the moment you feel him cradle your chin in his right palm. “--um, don’t have to do that for me.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” he mutters as he applies the cloth to your face to wipe away the blood. The gesture is surprisingly gentle; you honestly half-expected him to smush the cloth to your skin and scrub everything off quickly. Meanwhile, he's thinking on his own actions. Could've just slapped a chunk of gauze on you and sent you back to Karga. He thinks maybe the Child is making him a touch soft. And then he remembers being younger and the other Mandalorians caring for him in such a way--being bruised and battered and a gentle bare hand soothing his aches.

Your voice breaks his thoughts.

“Really, I can do it myself.”

He ignores you, dipping the cloth in the bowl of water to refresh it. He wrings out the excess, then rubs slow circles across your cheek to wipe away the congealed mess there. “Hands shaky. You feel hot. Did you get airsick?”

“N-no. You kidding? I’ve been flying ships since I was a kid. And--urgh--” you were interrupted when he accidentally wipes a bit of blood toward the corner of your mouth and you end up tasting it. "I just run hot. Weird circulation."

The Mandalorian makes a humming noise in reply, pressing his thumb firmly to the underside of your chin to urge you to tilt your face up. "Makes sense. Your blood flows quick." You oblige his gesture, swallowing thick as the cloth swipes across your throat. He notices that, just like he notices your lips parting ever so slightly to suck in a breath.

“Is your vision blurry? You’re swaying.”

His tone sound a bit off, almost like a parent fretting. You blink at him, not realize that you were staring off into space again. Maker, it’s been a long time since you’ve been this close to someone. Truth be told, it’s overwhelming, but you can’t tell if it’s because of the Mandalorian’s attention or if you really did hurt yourself real bad being thrown about in the cargo bay. You didn't even take notice that you were indeed feeling just slightly woozy, which made your body rock just a little.

“A little? The blood in my eye doesn’t help.” He huffs at you, but before he can reply you tell him, “I know what you meant, Mando. I’m just being difficult.”

The towel blots below your bloodied eye now, and he instructs you to keep it closed; you end up closing both. You hear the sound of the cloth being swirled in the water then being wrung out again. His right hand leaves your chin to hold the cloth so his left is free to gingerly press his fingers near your temple, holding the skin taut near your eye while he cleaned the area. It's strange--he's seen you a few times in passing while visiting with Karga but never paid much attention. Even though you're technically looking a little busted up at the moment, he starts to think that you're easy on the eyes--the word 'pretty' on the edge of tumbling right out of his mouth now that he can see you up close.

He waited until the area was clear before he instructed you to open your eye again. He pressed the cloth to the gash on your brow, which had thankfully clotted somewhat to lessen the bleeding. 

“Blink a few times for me.” he said. You did.

“Again. Slowly.” You did that too, and his heart skips a beat watching them flutter closed.

“Blurry?” he asked.

“Um, a little. My head hurts.”

You shivered when he suddenly pressed his palm to your forehead, gently guiding you to tilt your head back again as he eased the cloth from your wound to examine it further. “Well, you _do_ still have a bleeding wound on your face.”

You couldn’t help but wrinkle your nose as your mouth twitches to suppress a low chuckle. “The Mandalorian _jokes_?” He hums at you then instructs you to keep the cloth pressed to your brow before rising to his feet.

“Gonna get a fresh cloth and clean water to finish this. You need some sutures for that.”

Soon enough, the Mandalorian had your face cleaned up and he was already at work closing the wound up. It was strange having him so close like this when the only other times you’ve seen him it had only been from afar. And yet here he is, the ‘T’ of his visor crowding your vision while he focuses on his work, and you can’t do anything else besides anxiously drum your fingers on your needs. He used his left hand to keep your skin tight, pinching the wound together between two fingertips while the right threads the stitches through your skin, the heel of his palm pressing against your brow to steady his fingers.

Suddenly you’re so aware of the distinct metallic smell the beskar gives off--clean like a newly sharpened blade fresh from the whetstone. The old scent of faded leather. The plain linen smell of his tunic, obviously tinged with dirt, sweat, and blaster residue beneath the armor. You’re made aware of how quiet it is in the cargo bay, to the point where you can hear his voice modulator picks up how he’s breathing slowly through his nose, or exhaling through his mouth every once in a while, clearly heavy with exhaustion. The feel of his hands on your skin, warm and rough and surprisingly gentle while touching. It feels nice. Really nice. It's been a while since someone was so careful with you.

Meanwhile, he's trying to keep his movements as fluid as possible. It's hard being this close to someone. His work distracts him from the tugging feeling in his chest. He's soft right now, and he kind of hates himself right now for feeling that way around a stranger. What he found out at the Imperial base made his protective instincts kick in and all he wanted to do was keep the Child safe. He saw that you were injured, and it was unknowingly his fault, and he was so amped up from the events that just transpired that he didn't _think--_ he just wanted to _care_ for some reason. The Mandalorian mentally slaps himself out of the emotional spiral he was dangerously flirting with when he realizes that he's done a less-than-ideal job with the stitches. He peers closer to examine them, prodding at your skin to see if there's any apparent splitting or seepage. There isn't and he tells himself it's good enough.

You wince as something cold and wet rubs across your stitched wound. “I’m not a surgical droid so it looks sloppy.” he tells you plainly as he applies an antibacterial solution around the area. He lies to you and himself then, of course. If he hadn't been so distracted he could have done better.

“Not complaining,” you say with a quiet smile.

“S’feeling better now?”

“Yeah, I'm alright.”

The Mandalorian eases back, settling down to sit on the floor again, and he watches you. You hold still, knowing he’s observing. A few moments pass and he says, “Looks like no more swaying. How’s your vision? You hurting anywhere else?”

You shake your head and rise to your feet, and he follows suit. “Good to go, boss.” you reply as you dust off your jumpsuit. You finger at the collar and realize you’ve got dried blood all over it, and you can’t help but let out a long sigh.

You stuff your hands in your pockets, all of the sudden feeling small while he towers over you, and your eyes dart everywhere else besides the bold black visor staring down at you. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. He watches this, and watches as you open your mouth then close it. Watches as your brow furrows and your eyes searching for something to say. You're nervous for some reason, he realizes, but he doesn't know why. Doesn't know that you both were thinking about the same thing--that it's been a long time since either of you were physically close to someone else that didn't involve survival, work, or violence.

“Thank you.” You pause a beat. “Really. Thank you. You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“It’s fine,” he replies, nodding slightly at you.

"It was a lot of trouble. It was... kind of you to take the time to do that."

“Stop worrying about what I should or shouldn't have done. It's over now." he sighs, trying to keep his tone impartial. "Guess I owed you one for fixing my ship anyway.”

“I fix your ship. You fix my busted head. Sounds even.”

The voice modulator cracks with his short, hushed laugh, and you swear he's smiling a little beneath his helmet as he says, “You were a lot easier to deal with than I thought.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you shoot back, poking fun at him.

“Most people struggle a lot more when they’re being stitched up with no painkillers.”

“I can take a few hits. I’m good.” His helmet tilts to the side just slightly, silently regarding you. Right then he decides that he likes you, but he's not going to admit that. Instead, he circles back to the original reason as to why he had a blaster pointed at your bloodied face earlier. “So why were you here in the first place?”

  
You frown at him, not fully processing the question. “What..” and then you realize, “Oh _fuck_.”


End file.
